Cried again watching Michael's memorial service. From the first strains of the instrumental and somber version of "Will You Be There?" to the image of Blanket coming out of the limo with Prince and Paris to the ending shots of the family leaving him behind. Too much for me to take. Even though I had the soothing voice of my object of lust, Anderson Cooper, talk me through it, it was too painful and heartwrenching. I couldn't bear to watch it all.
Okay, but it was funny when Andy boy thought an elderly black guy was Quincy Jones and had to take it back. I know that was going to set it off in the blog-o-sphere.
It was nice that Macaulay Culkin was there but where was Emmanuel Lewis? Didn't Webster deserve a seat? Was Brookie there? I guess she had to go and get an eyelash weave.
I am sad for myself that I won't be able to do a pilgrimage to visit Michael in his final resting place. I look at the importance that Graceland has for the women of my Mom's generation and the closure it has given those who worshipped at the temple of Elvis. I need and want that for myself and for those of my generation. To be able to pay respects to Michael and in doing so, deal with my own grief.
Well, I guess it is true that we "never can say goodbye" after all.
Plus, you know that darned Jermaine would turn it into something horrible.
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